


We've Got This

by sambethe



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambethe/pseuds/sambethe
Summary: They’ve been using all sorts of things to avoid what’s right in front of them. Some off the cuff words, though, might get them on the right track.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurnorder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurnorder/gifts).



> For @laurnorder, who won a fic of her choosing in my follower appreciation earlier this summer. She requested friends to lovers with a dash of bedsharing. I may have gotten carried away. Thanks to @lenfaz for letting me toss this at her unexpectedly and providing helpful feedback. Part 2 up next week!

She was going to be sick.

Emma Swan sat back, propping herself up on the barstool next to the door. She glanced across the room, catching Ruby’s eye where she stood behind the bar, a frown marring her face as she gave Emma a small, apologetic shrug.

She turned back to where Walsh stood in the back by the pool tables, his back to the room as he pushed a leggy redhead in a pair of tight, dark jeans up against the wall. Her eyes seemed unable to look away where his hand sat on the woman’s thigh, or the way he pushed himself between her legs.

Her brain, traitor that it was, tried to calculate the last time he had kissed her like that. She was almost entirely sure he had never done so in public.

Ruby was at her elbow before Emma even realized she had left her post. She stood next to her, wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulder and holding out a full glass with her free hand.

“Whiskey?”

Emma nodded and took the glass, knocking back a gulp before leaning her head against Ruby’s.

“They been at this long?”

“Not sure. I just got on clock when I texted you. Ashley asked me to pick up for her, Tuesdays aren’t usually my shift.”

She watched Walsh step back and pick up his abandoned pool cue, turning to the table and lining up his shot.  

“Danny told me they came in together, though, and that he’s seen them here a few times over the past several weeks.”

Emma shook her head and finished off the glass Ruby brought her. “He’s an idiot. He knows you work here.”

The woman wrapped her hands around Walsh’s hips, slipping her fingers into his belt loops as she pressed herself against his back.

“Scratch that. I’m the idiot who thought this one might be different. I should’ve –”

“Emma…”

She handed her empty glass to Ruby. “Don’t worry. I promise not to cause a scene.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Ruby replied, but Emma ignored her and weaved through the tables, tugging the hem of her tank top, shifting it down to expose the tops of her breasts for good measure as she went. Just before she reached the table, she pulled the single key she hadn’t yet attached to her main set out of her pocket and palmed it.

She waited just out of range of the table until the woman was leaning in for her own shot. Walsh was at her side, his hand on the small of her back and his mouth at her ear. Emma bristled, pushing down memories of him doing the same to her, and leaned in at the far end of the table from them, sliding out her hand to where the eight-ball sat.

“Excuse me,” the woman snapped and Emma smiled as both she and Walsh looked up and caught her eye. She almost wanted to laugh at how wide Walsh’s eyes went when he realized it was her. “If you don’t mind –”

Emma cut her off with a wave. “Not at all, just wanted to return something.” She lifted her hand, leaving the key on the table. It was the same one she’d been looking at for the past few weeks, alternating been giddiness and dread each time a new empty box found its way into her apartment. Boxes she had been dragging her feet on packing up.

At least now she didn’t have to feel guilty about the dread.

“What’s going on?” the woman asked, glancing between her and Walsh.

“Zelena –” Walsh started.

_ Of fucking course _ , she thought and suppressed an eye roll.  _ Worry about her and not the fact your girlfriend is standing across from you, handing back the key to your apartment. _

Emma didn’t wait to hear the end of his sentence. She stalked out the front door of the bar without looking back, and without a word to Ruby. She’d have to text her later, to let her know she was all right. Before she could get too far however, a hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her back.

“Emma!”

She jerked her arm away and took a step back. “If you so much as touch me again.” She raised her hand as she said it, pointing a finger at him.

Walsh scoffed. “As if you’ve so much as let me hold your hand in the last month.”

She crushed down the urge to lunge at him. “So that’s your excuse?” She gestured at the door to the bar. “You go out with her? You make out in public, in the bar where my friend works no less, because things between us have been a little off?”

“A little off?” He laughed. “We’ve barely talked lately. We’re supposed to be moving in together, but those boxes are still sitting in your apartment untouched and you talk on the phone with Killian more nights than you do me.”

“Do not bring him into this. Killian’s got nothing to do with this.”

Walsh rolled his eyes and Emma balled her fists, taking a deep breath and locking her right arm to her side to keep herself from knocking him across the chin.

“He’s always been a part of this, Emma. Since day one. This relationship,  _ our _ relationship, has always had to make space for him. I’m right here, always have been, while he’s four hundred fucking miles away, but always seems to be your priority.” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I thought it would be different, once… I thought  _ you’d _ be different.”

She stilled at his words, her skin growing cold despite the humidity in the air. A few people had passed them on the street as they had continued to shout, eyeing them but not stopping. One woman on the corner kept turning to watch them as she waited for the light to change.

“How is this on me? I wasn’t the one at the bar with my tongue down someone woman’s throat, practically dry humping her against the wall.”

“Well,” he sneered, his voice going low as he stepped towards her, “at least she’s not a frigid bitch and knows how to kiss a man. You might have a nice rack and a great ass, but –”

Emma held up her hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.” She turned and stepped off the curb, hailing for a cab, grateful to see one of the approaching ones slow down and stop in front of her. “And don’t bother calling me later.”

Staring at her phone as the cab driver made a U-turn after she rattled off her address, she thought about calling Mary Margaret. Her sister-in-law, though, was as likely to want to storm out and punch Walsh as she was to want to listen to Emma talk about what had happened. Plus, she’d want to tell her brother, and the thought of David and his supportive tone and kind words were enough to make Emma want to cry.

And she wasn’t going to cry about this. At least not in a cab in front of a perfect stranger.

Instead she thumbed at her phone, scrolling through her Instagram feed. She hovered over a photo posted by Killian – a handful of small mason jars, fairy lights lit within them, littered on the bow of the Jolly Roger, a deep darkness spread out beyond them. It looked quiet, and peaceful, and calm. She wondered if he was alone out on the water.

She pulled up her most recent text chain with him and shrugged. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t answer.

_ You’re awake? Isn’t it long past your bedtime? _

She stared at the screen, willing three dots to appear, anything to keep the press of tears at bay until she was out of this cab and safely behind her own bedroom door.

_ Funny, love. Everything all right? _

_ Can I call? _

She closed her eyes as she waited for his response. He’d be able to talk her down, keep her steady for the next fifteen minutes. Long enough to see her to her front door, same as he had been doing since they met almost a decade ago. She was a barista in a coffee shop when he started his graduate program. They’d struck up a friendship, or maybe he prodded her into one, and been inseparable since. Or as inseparable as they could be given that he up and moved to Bar Harbor three years back.

The ring of her phone interrupted her thoughts. “Hi.”

“Swan.” His voice sounded gravelly and she wondered if he had been dozing off.

“You’re out on the water late.”

“Only moored to the dock. Enjoying the quiet night.”

“You need to get out more. No good can come of you keeping to yourself.”

He gave a low, quiet laugh. “It’s my first night off in a week. Too tired to get out. And where are you that you need to call?”

“In a cab.” Emma could hear the tremble in her own voice and muttered a curse at the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She was angry at Walsh, for his betrayal. She was angry at herself, for agreeing to move in with him when she knew she shouldn’t, when she knew things hadn’t been right between them. But, really, it was his parting words that cut most. “I may have walked into The Dark Horse and found Walsh there with another woman.”

“Pardon?” She could hear Killian shuffling, and knew he had to be sitting himself upright on the Jolly’s cushioned seats. She wished for anything that she could be there right now, smell the ocean air around her. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.” She looked out the window, watching the passing traffic as the cab made a right turn. “Was making out with her at the pool tables. We may have fought about it outside. I feel like half of Boston saw us.”

He whistled.

“I gave him back his key.” With those words out, her tears finally slipped down her face.

“Oh, Swan,” he said after a few beats.

“He all but said it was my fault he was fucking her. Called me frigid.” She faced forward and saw the cab driver watching her through the rearview mirror. She ignored his wary look and attempted to take a deep breath, but all it seemed to do was cause the tears to fall faster.

“You know that’s not true, right?”

She ignored the question, not wanting to prod too much at that wound. Sex had never been her problem. At least she didn’t think it was. She had learned her lesson after Neal, sticking with one night stands and casual hookups. She took what she wanted, and gave good in return. None of them ever seemed to complain.

She sniffed and tried to wipe at the tears on her cheeks.

“Are you crying?”

“Not really,” she lied and knew he wouldn’t buy it, not with the way her voice sounded thick and muffled.  

“You’re lying.” Concern crept into his voice and she bit back a sob. “You’re a terrible liar. Do you need me to send David over to your apartment?”

“Please don’t. I don’t think I could handle him right now. Ruby’s probably already texted Mary Margaret.”

“She was there?”

She hummed and closed her eyes, willing this ride to end so that she could walk into her apartment and bury herself under a mound of sheets and blankets. Actually, what she really wanted to do was pile herself in her car and drive to Maine, spend a week or two out on the water with Killian like they used to in the summers. There she could think about nothing but when was the last time she put on sunscreen or where they could head next. But she didn’t feel right butting into his life uninvited.

“Are you almost home?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.  

“Yeah, cab is pulling up now.”

“Ok, keep talking to me until you get inside. I want to be sure you’re home safe.”

She nodded before remembering he couldn’t see her. “All right,” she said as she handed cash to the driver and got out of the car. “I’m letting myself in now.” She pulled open the main door to the building and made her way up the stairs. Once inside her apartment, she didn’t bother flicking on the lights, just headed to her bedroom and dropped face first into her mattress.

“I should let you go,” she whispered into the phone. “You probably need to be up early.”

“I’m happy to talk as long as you want.”

For whatever reason, Killian’s quiet words brought tears once again and she choked back a sob. “I know, but I’m too exhausted. I don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s all right. How about I keep talking until you drift off?”

She wasn’t sure she agreed, but Killian started talking and she made no move to stop him. He told her about the couple he took out on tour of the bay the day before, how they were in town from South Africa and making their way down the coast for the summer. And about Liam’s new found neuroses and need to worry now that his wife was pregnant. She wasn’t sure when she finally fell asleep, but it was a loud knock on her door and the buzz of her phone that woke her.

Turning to dig out her phone from beneath her pillow, she pushed her hair out of her face and blinked down at the screen, willing the text to come into focus. It was from Killian.

_ Open the door. _

She closed one eye, assuming she had read that wrong, when there was another knock on her door.

He couldn’t really be here. It was a five-hour drive from Bar Harbor. He’d be crazy to make the trip unplanned and in the middle of the night. But sure enough, when she opened the door Killian was standing on the other side, dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and an unbuttoned flannel.

“Killian? What are you doing here?”

He smiled, that same lopsided grin that first got her to start talking to him during those evenings at the coffee shop. He had more scruff now, really almost a full beard, but still trimmed it back neatly.

“Thought you could use a friend.”

///

Killian ran his eyes over Emma, reassuring himself that she was physically ok. She looked tired, her hair was a knotted mess that haloed around her head and there were deep circles under her eyes. It was hard to tell how much of it was lack of sleep and how much was the remnants of last night’s mascara.

She was still gorgeous though. Always had been. Her high cheekbones and strong chin along with her slight frame had caught his eye from the first night he had met her. It had taken weeks before she would talk to him about more than his coffee order. The night where she sat down across from him and started asking about the designs he was sketching out on scrap paper, he’d wanted to do a victory dance that night. But he managed to keep his dignity together, answering her questions about the design he was working on as he walked her through the plans he was developing for his class assignment on his laptop.

He wrapped his arms around her once she closed the door behind them, and he was relieved at the way she sank against him. He could have made sure Ruby stopped by after her shift, or sent Mary Margaret in his stead, but he needed to see for himself, needed the reassurance he would only get first hand. Because the Emma Swan he knew wasn‘t a crier. She got angry, or sullen, or went out and drank herself three drinks too many. She vented - about her cases and random bad lays, but she did not cry.

Of course, the Emma Swan he knew had never been agreed to move in with someone, or, really, let a man into her life for more than a few nights of sex and a curt dismissal. Even her on-again, off-again with Graham had never been more than that. The only time he could recall seeing her cry was at David and Mary Margaret’s wedding.

“What happened, love?”

She had met Walsh eight months ago, and surprised the hell out them when she finally fessed up to the relationship and brought him with her to David’s birthday party. She didn’t date, and she certainly didn’t bring guys around. Killian couldn’t reckon what she saw in him, but the others seemed to like him well enough, and Emma was smiling and laughing more than he had seen in a long time. So he went along with it.

And while he missed their phone calls trading exploits, they still talked most days and Emma seemed happy. He might have once wished it was him that did that for her, but that was before Graham and before Milah, before Killian needed to pick up and move himself to Maine. 

But then it had taken Emma weeks to tell Killian that she agreed to move in with Walsh, and he was big enough to admit that hurt. Though not as hurt as when the frequency of their calls tapered, and her texts shortened, and those times they did talk she sounded tired and distant. So when she called him late on a weeknight and was obviously crying, he worried. Worried to the point he got in his car and drove four hundred miles to check on her without second thought.

“You want a drink?” she mumbled against his chest.

He shifted his hand, slipping it into her hair and scratching at her scalp at the back of her head. “How about just some water?” He kissed the top of her head. “Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

She nodded and stepped back. He trailed after her, settling himself in one of the stools at her breakfast bar. She poured two glasses from a pitcher she kept in the fridge and pushed one in front of him before coming over and leaning against the counter next to him. She was still in a pair of jeans and a white tank top that exposed a fair bit of the lace edging of her purple bra. Killian forced himself to focus on her face, not wanting to linger on the way his fingers itched to trace that lace and skin he imagined to be warm and soft beneath. 

_ Mind out of the gutter, Jones.  _

They had played that game once, a couple years after they first met. They’d been out celebrating his having presented his thesis project and her bagging her first lucrative skip. They’d been feeling good and were probably a bit drunk. She’d accompanied him home, which was not all that unusual, but instead of making herself at home on his couch she had dropped herself into his bed. Things hadn’t gone far, a lot of making out, a chance to get fairly well acquainted with her breasts. By morning, though, they were back to their usual teasing and they never really talked about what happened. 

Thirty-four-year-old Killian kind of wanted to kick twenty-seven-year-old Killian’s arse for being too scared to call both of them on their shit.

“I’m an idiot for thinking this was different, for thinking this time I might be enough.”

He reached out, wrapping his hand softly around her arm and rubbing his thumb at her bicep. “Don’t be daft. You are, always have been. If a man’s too stupid to see it, you’re not the one at fault.”

She sighed. “This one’s on me. I should have never agreed to move in. Things weren’t ok between us when he asked. Should have known it wasn’t going to fix that.” She glanced up at him, her eyes obviously watery again. “And if not, I should have known when I was reluctant to tell anyone. That’s a thing you want to tell people about, isn’t it?”

“Possibly,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry you felt the need to drive all the way down here. I’ll be fine.” She reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing at the scruff on his jaw. “You’ve let it grown in a bit.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I thought it gave me a bit of a roguish air.” 

Emma snorted but didn’t take her hand away.

“And of course I drove down. It’s what friends do, especially when they are worried.”

She frowned. “I didn’t take you away from something, did I? That photo you posted looked cozy.”

He had taken a couple out earlier in the evening, a romantic chartered sunset cruise around the bay. He’d been reluctant to cut off the fairy lights after he got back to the dock behind his house. Something about watching two people wrapped around one another on the deck of his ship leaving him feeling quiet and melancholy, and not wanting to return to quiet, empty house. 

“Stalking me on Instagram, are you?”

She dropped her hand and pushed at his shoulder, causing him to laugh and tighten his grip on her arm. 

He pulled her closer. “You didn’t interrupt anything. And I wanted to drive down. Now are you going to tell me what happened?”

Shaking her head, Emma took a breath. “Like I said, things between us hadn’t been great.”

He tilted his head and studied her face. “That’s not how it seemed from my vantage point.”

“I thought it would blow over. We didn’t seem to be connecting. He didn’t seem to be much interested in sex.” She huffed. “Or at least sex with me, it seems. Which makes it extra rich that he pretty much blamed me for the fact he was fucking someone else.”

Killian gritted his teeth, trying to quell the urge to drive across town and punch the git himself.

“Then he basically said I was the problem and he was hoping our living together would fix everything. But that in the end, I might have a nice pair of tits and a great ass, but I was an uptight, closed off bitch whose boyfriend was out with another woman because she doesn’t know how to kiss a man.” 

Fuck the not punching Walsh in the face nonsense.

Emma had looked away from him when she had gone quiet, and he slowly reached a hand out and tipped her chin back towards him so that she was looking at him. He rested his thumb at the cleft in her chin when she finally looked up and he gave her a serious look.

“He’s wrong, Emma. You are one of the kindest, most caring people I know. You’re strong and brilliant, and, if anything, you feel more than most people I know. And if he can’t see past the sometimes cool exterior, that’s his fault not yours.”

The small smile that quirked at the corner of her mouth made the five-hour drive worth it.

“And I promise you,” he continued, “you know how to kiss a man.”

He probably should have regretted those words the moment he spoke them, but he didn’t. Most especially when her shoulders seemed to relax for the first time since he walked into her apartment. 

She rolled her eyes. “That was forever ago. Maybe I was terrible and you just don’t remember it.”

“Oh, I think I recall that night with perfect clarity.” He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip despite himself. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman crawls into your bed and kisses you within an inch of your life.” 

She paused, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at him. It was a look that was equal parts flirtatious and calculating, with maybe a dash of a challenge thrown in. It was enough to make him suspicious, and more than a little hard. And he knew, without a doubt, that whatever words were on her tongue were ones he was going to both love and hate.

“Perhaps you should kiss me again, Jones.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 up in two weeks, once the first chapters of the Captain Swan Big Bang stories have been posted.

_ Perhaps you should kiss me again, Jones. _

Emma kind of wanted to kick herself as she heard the words come out of her mouth. 

_ You’re a fucking idiot, Swan. Breaking it off with one guy and propositioning your best friend all in one night. Nice. Way to go. _

She watched Killian war with himself, his internal debate clear on his face as he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging along her jaw as he did. She searched his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was thinking, surprised that he even seemed to be considering her idiotic request. 

In any other circumstance with him, this wouldn’t be a big deal. Like he said, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before. She knew how it would go. He’d kiss her, they would maybe take it a little further, then tomorrow everything would go back to normal. It was funny how that thought made her stomach roil. Normal would be good, right? Right.

But making that comment on the same night she found her boyfriend cheating, that was taking a crappy situation and making it a thousand times worse. That would be taking advantage of Killian, using him to wipe away at her insecurities and make herself feel better. Even if the idea of his lips on hers felt like a thing she desperately wanted to experience again. The lock she had placed around the memories from that one night suddenly seemed shaky, and she could remember the feel of his tongue against hers, the taste of his skin, the weight of his hand on her ribs, his thumb inching to dangerous territory.

Killian’s free hand dropped to her waist, tightening as he leaned in and studied her mouth. His eyes darkened for a moment and then he shook his head. “No, Swan. I am not going to kiss you to prove a point.”

She sighed, letting out the breath she had been holding. 

“Why? You afraid you couldn’t handle it?”

_ Goddammit, Emma. _ She would need to lock her mouth back up once this night was over. 

Killian cocked his head at her. “I have no doubt that I could,” he clicked his tongue, “handle it, as you say. And I have no doubt that both of us would enjoy it, greatly.” He paused a moment, watching her. “But I am not that man, Emma.” He gestured between them. “You and me? We are friends, and I love our friendship. And if you want us to cross that line again some time, I’m game for that, but not tonight. Not because you’re upset with someone else.”

She nodded. 

_ If you want us to cross that line again...  _

And then she shook her head at herself. He was right. She knew he was right, and knew she’d be grateful come morning that he put a stop to her nonsense. She was grateful right now that he was here, that he drove through the night to make sure she was ok. That he was continuing to make sure she was ok, even as she tested his patience and his nerve. She liked to see herself as the cool, collected, practical one, the one to stay above the fray and not get emotional. Something about watching Walsh tonight, though, with all of his usual reserve shed -- with someone else -- had hurt. 

That calm reserve was what she had thought she wanted from him. Seeing the intensity in his eyes as he watched that woman, Zelena, had flipped something in her. Emma had been left unsure if anyone had ever looked at her like that, and curious about what that sort of intensity might feel like when directed at her.  

Stepping back, she picked up her glass from the counter, and finished off the last of her water.

“We should get some sleep,” Killian said. He stood and grabbed her glass as she set it down, dropping it in the sink behind them. “Why don’t you go get me some blankets for the couch? 

“You’re not taking the couch,” she said with another shake of her head. “It’s way too late and you drove too far. My bed’s plenty big enough.”

“Emma…”

“I promise,” she said, hands raised, “no more taunts or kissing talk on my part.”

He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around her shoulder, planting a kiss at the top of her head. “We’re good?”

“We’re good,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Are you good?” he whispered.

“No,” she replied honestly. She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed at where her hand landed on his hip. There was more she could say, but it all felt too big, and too raw. Instead, she let Killian tug her down the hallway.

It was still dark in her bedroom, so she didn’t bother with modesty. She just stripped off her jeans and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts that she’d left on the floor a few nights before. She turned around in time to find Killian halfway through removing his t-shirt, the moonlight filtering through her window enough to play across his skin, glinting at the line of hair at his navel. She swallowed, her throat tight and her stomach constricting as she watched, only shaken from her thoughts when his t-shirt hit the ground and he coughed. 

“This all right?” he asked, his fingers stopping at the fly of his jeans.

She nodded and knew she should look away. Instead, her eyes drifted to the edge of the scrolling tattoo that rose above his left hip as she whispered, “Sure.” She had seen him stripped down to just his shorts, seen hints of that ornate compass and the waves that surrounded it, more times than she could count while on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Somehow, though, here in the quiet of her room it was different. 

Her breath went shallow and her mind trailed off, wondering what it looked like in full. What the texture of it would be if she traced her fingers along it, what it -- what  _ he  _ \-- would taste like if she followed the patterns with her tongue. She thought of her own tattoo, the newest one that sat along her ribcage, the one Killian had yet to see in person. She wondered if he might want to her to show it to him. 

Glancing away, she focused on the sheets on her bed, bunched and wrinkled, as she reached behind and underneath her tank top to pull off her bra. She wanted to curse at herself for opening this whole can of worms, one she had decidedly closed all those years ago. A voice in her head told her to get it together. It sounded distinctly like Mary Margaret. She looked back up after she tossed her bra to the floor to find Killian studiously staring at her bed.

“Do you ever make your bed, Swan?” He looked up with a frown as he grabbed her duvet and shook it out. 

She laughed and crawled in, grabbing a corner and tugging it over herself when it hit her shoulder. “I was sleeping in it when you arrived, idiot.”

The mattress sank as he followed her. He shuffled himself behind her, closing the distance between them. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Seems like a lot of work if you are only going to mess it all up again the next night.”

“Heathen.”

She snorted, pressing into the pillow beneath her head and hugging a second to her chest. Killian shifted, his knee hitting the back of her thigh before he inched back, putting a gap between them. He reached out though, slowly stroking her arm where it sat above the duvet. The drag of his fingers against her skin left sparks in its wake, the sensation fanning up to her shoulder and across her chest. Her nipples drew tight and she wondered at how a gesture so simple could be the most erotic thing she had felt in months. 

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, willing herself to sleep despite howl keyed up she felt. She wasn’t sure exactly how long they laid there, each of them breathing quietly and steadily. Killian’s movements had stopped, but his hand was curled at her forearm, his thumb resting on her elbow. She let go of pillow she was clutching to her and turned, squinting to make out his face in the low light. His hand fell between them as she did, lying at the center of the mattress.

“Killian,” she whispered. 

He didn’t answer, but lifted his hand and wrapped it around hers. He squeezed before opening her hand, threading their fingers together. “You should get some sleep,” he said after a few moments. 

“Says the man who’s been driving the last five hours.”

He shrugged and they sat cloaked in silence again while Killian rubbed at the top of her thumb with his. She thought she might finally be drifting off when he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about Walsh? About how things were really going? I mean, we talk all the time, but you never made it seem...”

Emma let out a deep breath as he trailed off. It was a question she had asked herself repeatedly over the past couple of months. The first few times Walsh had rebuffed her advances, she had wanted to talk to Killian about it. She thought to call or text for advice, but then was unsure of what to say or how to start. She’d felt awkward and out of her element, and then angry for being made to feel awkward for asking for what she wanted. And all of a sudden she felt twelve-years-old again, angry and standing alone in a driveway, watching a kid who wasn’t her get a family like the one she had always wanted.  

It was ridiculous. She had felt ridiculous. It was just sex, but it had managed to hit at every soft chink in her armor. 

“I didn’t know what to say, and I wanted to want to live with him.”

“Why?” 

“Things were off, but I thought it would blow over. Thought it would get better when I agreed to move in. Things were so good for so long.” She paused and took a breath. “I thought maybe I had done something to make it change. That I could do something to...”

“Swan,” he whispered, moving his hand from hers and wrapping it around her hip. He pulled her closer as he shifted to his back, leaving her to rest her head on his chest. 

“It sounds ridiculous, but I thought if I talked about it, I would talk myself out of what I needed to do to keep him wanting me.” She shook her head and tried to roll to her other side. “I sound like an idiot…”

Killian drew the arm she was lying on around her waist and kept her close. His fingers were a steady weight on her hip as his left hand came to rest over the one she had on his chest. “You’re not an idiot, and you’re not ridiculous,” he said against her hair. “And you, of all people, shouldn’t have to settle for a wanker who doesn’t understand the gift he had. Any man would be lucky to have you in his home, and that’s saying nothing of in his bed.”

She smiled and tipped her head, catching his eye as best she could in the dark of the room. “Thanks, Killian,” she whispered, dropping a brief kiss to his chest and closing her eyes.

///

Killian wasn’t sure how Emma managed to fall asleep. Not with her head still on his chest and her hand at his hip. Everywhere she touched him felt like a live wire. 

She had drawn her fingers along the edges of his tattoo, tracing it as they had fallen into silence again. He had had to bite back the urge to roll into her hand as she did, had to stop himself from encouraging her to explore its lines as they unfurled down to the juncture of his thigh and sprawled out below his navel. The thought of it alone had left him with the need to slow his breathing, to carefully concentrate on each one in and out. Anything to not focus on how his body wanted to react to her touch.

_ Not here. Not tonight _ was his reminder to himself.  _ Not like this _ .

This was not what he had anticipated when he had got into his car earlier. He hadn’t imagined finding himself asleep in Emma’s bed, her bare thigh tucked over his own. Hadn’t thought he would be fighting to get the image of her breasts tight against the thin cotton of her tank, her back arching as she slipped her bra off underneath, out of his head. Hadn’t thought he would have the urge to bend down and kiss her, to slip his tongue along the seam of her lips and taste her. Those thoughts had all been safely tucked away, years ago. He had buried them deep in the months after he graduated from grad school, and left them behind him when he’d met and married Milah.

Apparently not though, because here he was, awake for the third time in as many hours, images of Emma naked and moving above him dominating his thoughts.

He had known he might be in trouble earlier this year, watching Emma sit at the prow of the Jolly on her first up to visit for the season. It reminded him of those summers when they first met, when she’d sit on the side of his ship, feet dangling out over the still cape waters. He’d caught himself, more than a few times, thinking of what it would be like if he sat himself behind her, leaning her back to rest against his chest. Imagined pushing aside her hair, running his nose up the nape of neck, breathing her in as they watched the sunset, repeating the movement with his mouth. 

Sometimes she would tip her head back and flash him a smile he couldn’t quite read, and he’d wondered if she might just be waiting for him to take that chance.  

But then he’d remind himself she had Walsh, that she was happy. So he’d let the thoughts go.

Sighing, he reached up to push his hair back off his forehead. He was tired, strung out, and more than a little turned on from the way Emma huffed a quiet breath across his chest, her hand flexing at his hip as he stretched. 

Maybe he should have sent Mary Margaret to check on her, though he knew he really didn’t mean that. He wouldn’t have slept at home either. The worry that had etched itself in his brain at the first crack in Emma’s voice would only have been abated by checking on her himself. And as long as she slept better for it, that would be enough for him. He didn’t have any daytime charters scheduled. He would be exhausted for the one that night, but it was a large enough one that Liam was scheduled to join him, so that would help.

It was nearly ten when he woke next, the sun pouring out from beneath Emma’s drawn shades. They had shifted some while he slept, Emma now curled on her side, her back pressed to his chest. His hand sat against the warm skin of her belly, fingers splaying across where her top had ridden up, and his face tucked into the crook of her neck. 

He breathed in, enjoying the scent of her shampoo and her, wanting to stay in this place as long as he could. He knew he had to wake her up, to say goodbye and get back on the road. Liam would kill him if he was left to do the setup alone. But he stalled, glancing down and admiring the contrast of his tanned fingers against her pale skin, fanning them further out across her stomach. Her tank had twisted as they slept, the fabric pulled tight and to the side, leaving the tops of breasts exposed. It wouldn’t take more than a nudge of his nose to expose her to him, to allow him to sweep his tongue along the bright pink skin he could see the edge of, to pull her into his mouth and tease her nipple into a tight peak. 

He could remember the broken cry she’d give when he’d bite down, the thought of it now causing him to bite down on his own lip instead. He needed to leave this bed before he did something reckless, but instead he pressed the hem of her shirt up, his thumb questing for the script of the tattoo he knew rested along the side of her rib. 

She had sent him photos a few weeks back, when it was new, but he hadn’t had a chance to see it in person yet. Emma stretched as he started to trace the letters, giving a sleepy sigh as his fingers repeated their loop. 

“Hey,” she whispered. 

“You’re awake?” he asked, not removing his hand from her side. 

“That tickles,” she said, but didn’t pull away from his touch. 

“Belle did a nice job.” 

“She did. Thanks recommending her.”

“I should get going.” His mouth brushed at the back of her neck with each syllable, his fingers continuing their slow slide along her ribs. “Liam’ll be cross if I leave him to do all of the work for tonight.”

Emma hummed. “Wouldn’t want that…”

They stayed like that, his nose buried in the hair at the back of her head and his hand moving up and down her side. 

“Thank you for coming down,” she said quietly, finally breaking the silence a few minutes later. “And thank you for…

“Always, Swan. You know that.”

It wasn’t long after that that he’d extracted himself from her and her bed, helping himself to a shower while she dragged herself towards the kitchen. Once he was dressed, he found her sitting cross-legged on the couch. She was still in her sleep shorts and tank, but had pulled her hair into a knot on the top of her head and had thrown on a robe. There was a steaming mug between her hands and a travel mug sitting on the coffee table in front of her. The mug was topped with one of those shiny, pre-made Christmas bows and he nearly laughed at how ridiculous it looked. 

“A bow, Swan?” He swiped the mug from the coffee table and poked at the bright green ribbon. 

“It was in the cabinet when I pulled the mug out, don’t get too excited.”

He removed the bow and took a sip. He smiled. It was just as he always ordered, with a small dash of milk and no sugar. No matter how many times Emma still made him coffee, he always loved that she didn’t have to ask how he liked it. Not since that first night she took his order.

“Inside the kitchen cupboard?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “In July?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t judge. Not all of us can be neat freaks.”

Shaking his head, he leaned over and dropped a kiss to the top of her head before heading to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he turned to say goodbye and smiled when he found her tilting her head over the back of the couch to watch him. 

“You should come up next week. There are a couple free days in the schedule and Liam’s complained that he hasn’t seen much of you this summer.”

“Liam, huh?” She turned around, shifting to her knees and leaning her elbows on the back of the couch. She narrowed her eyes and he grinned, drumming his fingers against his mug.

“Uh huh. I think he misses you underfoot, pissing him off.” 

“I don’t piss -”

His raised eyebrow seemed to cut her off and he laughed. 

Her glare shifted into a smile as he continued to watch her from the doorway, her eyes darting over his face as she took another sip of her coffee. If asked about it later, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to say what exactly it was about her expression, but something about it made him sure he did not want to leave that apartment without kissing her at least once. 

So he dropped his keys and the coffee mug on the table by the door and took the three steps needed to cross back to her. Leaving the couch between them, he plucked her coffee from her hands and placed it on the floor before reaching out to cup her cheeks with his hands. He drew his thumbs up along her cheekbones and smiled at her. 

Confusion and warmth warred in her eyes as she watched him and it made his smile widen. Before he could talk himself out of it, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, and then did it again, and repeated it for a third time. They were barely there things that could almost be nothing, but by that third sweep, Emma’s mouth trailed after his, her lips firming under his and pulling him in for a true kiss.

He breathed in as she did, drawing her top lip between his and tilting his head to bring her closer to him. She opened to him and he took the chance to wrap his tongue around hers, brushing and teasing and tasting until it became too difficult to breathe. He pulled back for a moment, his lips trailing along her jaw before sliding back to her mouth. Her fingers slid into his hair as he did, tugging on where it had grown overlong at the back of his neck. 

Their kiss became rougher, dirtier, a wet slide of tongues and teeth pulling at lips. If it weren’t for the couch between them, he would have brought his hands to her ass, squeezing before he pulled one of her legs over his hip. As it was, he rocked uselessly against the couch, nothing about the movement bringing him the friction and heat he wanted. 

When they broke again, he kissed a path up her neck and along the shell of her ear. “See,” he whispered, working to catch his breath, “my recall is just fine.” He stepped back and drew his thumb along her chin, then smiled and tapped once against the small divot of her cleft. “A man would have to be an idiot to not want to be kissed by you.” 

With that he turned, not giving her a chance to answer. He made his way back to the door, pulling it open and ducking through without looking back. He knew that if he did, if he so much as looked at her, let alone waited for her response -- either to the kiss or his words -- it would be too much. That he’d be unwilling to make the trip home. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 coming soon, I promise!

_ “A man would have to be an idiot to not want to be kissed by you.”  _

_ With that he turned, not giving her a chance to answer. He made his way back to the door, pulling it open and ducking through without looking back. He knew that if he did, if he so much as looked at her, let alone waited for her response -- either to the kiss or his words -- it would be too much. That he’d be unwilling to make the trip home. _

The door to her apartment closed with a thud and Emma couldn’t find it within herself to move, instead she continued to kneel there, hands on the back of the couch, her mouth hanging open.

Killian kissed her.

Killian  _ kissed _ her, and not a peck to the top of her head, or a brush across her cheek kind of kiss. That was full on, smacking noises, tongues and teeth type kissing. There was definitely some biting. And groaning. She wasn’t even sure which of them had done it. If the couch hadn’t been between them, or he hadn’t just walked out of her apartment, she would have gladly pulled him down on top of her for some truly teenage making out on the couch. 

She dropped her chin to her chest and groaned, her clit throbbing at the thought of his weight on her, him grinding down with a leg between hers. She imagined him sliding down the couch, his blue eyes flashing up at her as he pushed up her shirt and trailed a set of a wet kisses down her belly. 

_ Fuck_. 

Why was she still kneeling on the couch, right where he left her without a glance back? She should probably follow him out to his car, demand he say something. Demand he explain why he did it. 

Demand he kiss her again. 

But she found she couldn’t move. Instead she continued to sit there still perched on her knees, her mouth still open, and her heart racing. She groped for her phone in the pocket of her robe and thumbed through her contacts, debating whether or not to text him. What would she even say? Come back and finish what you started?

That’s probably exactly what she should say

She had asked for it after all. Had asked for it and even when he turned her down, spent the night curled against him. Spent the night with her hands on his bare skin, wondering what it would be like to truly touch him. To touch him and have it mean something.

_ If you want us to cross that line again...  _

She scrolled down to Mary Margaret’s name and typed out a quick message.

_ I kissed Killian. _

Her reply took less than thirty seconds.

_ What? _ __  
_ No, scratch that.  _ _  
_ __ Meet me for breakfast. 30 minutes. 

Emma had barely slid into the booth of their favorite diner when Mary Margaret leveled her with a stare and said, “Spill.”

Their waitress came over and poured a cup of coffee for Emma before she could respond, buying her another few seconds of reprieve. She had no idea where to start. It seemed surreal that less than twenty-four hours ago she had been with Walsh, avoiding the stack of empty boxes piling up in her apartment despite the fact that the calendar kept helpfully reminding her she had ten days left on her lease.

“Fuck.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead and wondered if anyone would notice if she dumped an entire bottle of whiskey in her coffee. Too bad she didn’t have one in her bag so she could find out.

“What?”

“I just realized I have no idea where I’m going to be living in ten days.”

Mary Margaret waved her hand. “We’re not worrying about that.” She paused and then shook her head. “Well, I mean we’ll worry about that, and whatever the hell happened with Walsh, but not right now. Right now I want to hear about Killian and the kissing.” She gave Emma a broad, giddy smile “I didn’t know he was in town.” She picked up her mug and took a pointed sip, obviously waiting for Emma to start. 

“What’s there to tell?”

Mary Margaret shot her a frown that clearly telegraphed for her to stop stalling.

“I kissed him,” she said with a shrug. “Or he kissed me. Maybe, after I goaded him to. Doesn’t matter, we kissed.”

“Was it nice?”

_ Was it nice _ ? The question, and Mary Margaret’s earnest expression as she delivered it, almost made her laugh. Nice wouldn’t even begin to cover what kissing Killian had felt like. 

“It was nice,” she conceded, smiling at the way Mary Margaret’s eyes lit up as she did.

“I bet it was. He looks like a man who knows how to kiss.” She settled her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “Do you plan on doing it again?”

“Mary Margaret!”

“Well?”

Emma smiled against the rim of her coffee cup and took a sip. She had never told her sister-in-law, or anyone really, what happened between her and Killian years ago. She thought back to the look Killian had given her earlier, right before he leaned in. How much hope sparked in his eyes before he closed them and kissed her softly. It had been a look that said perhaps she ought to take a chance, despite her absolutely lousy timing.

“It was just like I remembered. Maybe better. So, yeah, if he’ll let me, I plan on doing it again.”

“What?” Mary Margaret slammed her hand down on the table, causing the few people who occupied tables around them to turn and stare. “You’ve kissed him before? When? How am I only hearing about this now? Does David know about this?”

Before she could figure out which of Mary Margaret’s questions to answer, their waitress interrupted, asking for their orders. After some back and forth about the peach pancakes versus the breakfast burrito, Emma was left alone again with Mary Margaret, who was once again staring at her, one eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“It was a long time ago, back when he had that shitty apartment in Cambridge. Remember?” At her words, Emma could remember the scratchy fabric of his couch, and the way they would lounge across it, watching dvds on the small screen of his laptop. And how he was incapable of just boiling ramen and eating it sprinkled with the the small flavor packet, instead cutting up a few vegetables and making her random stir frys. She smiled. 

“He had just defended his thesis and we’d gone out drinking to celebrate. I ended up crashing at his place, in his bed.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs.

“Not like that. It was mostly kissing - a lot of kissing. Total high school level making out. Though shirts may have been removed.” 

She smiled again at the memory of that night, at how it felt the first time his fingers swept across her bare stomach. Their  giddy la ughter at how she’d gotten tangled in her shirt in their rush to pull it off. The tentative way he cupped her breasts, how he grew bolder with each swipe of his thumb across her nipples. The feel of Killian’s chest hair beneath her fingers. The wicked smile he gave before leaning in and biting down on her earlobe. It wasn’t a memory she allowed herself to revisit often and now that she could, she could admit how much she had enjoyed it. 

Mary Margaret grinned back at her.

“We woke up the next day and I don’t know.” She shrugged. “We both seemed to back away from what had happened, or maybe I backed away and he followed. I don’t even know anymore. Just, we never really talked about it, or brought it up again, until last night.”

“Why last night? What happened? 

“Did Ruby tell you about what happened at the bar?”

Mary Margaret nodded.

“I called him on the cab ride back to my place and kind of freaked out. He showed up a few hours later.”

“He did?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at the breathy sound of Mary Margaret’s voice. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, M. Did you forget the part where I was supposed to be moving in with Walsh in a week?”

“You were never going to do that.” She shrugged when Emma stared open mouthed at her and nudged the plate the waitress had dropped off towards her. “Eat now, we’ll get back to that later.”

Emma cut into her pancakes, but hesitated before taking a bite. “Am I crazy? For wanting to kiss him again? What if he doesn’t -”

“Oh, I’d bet you any amount of mone y h e wants to kiss you again.” She plucked a potato off her plate and popped it into her mouth while grinning. “I’d bet he’s got a lot more than kissing on his mind.”

“M!”

“Don’t M me.” She shook her head and pursed her lips before her smile slipped back across her face. “I know exactly how those early kisses feel. How you can’t think of anything but pulling at clothes and getting naked, bed be damned. When David and I first started -”

Emma groaned and waved her fork at Mary Margaret. “Don’t even think of finishing that sentence. I prefer an existence where I have no thoughts of my brother’s sex life.”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You know what I mean.” She took a bite of her burrito and then turned back to Emma. “When are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. He left before I could say anything.” 

“You should call him. Or text him.”

Emma turned her attention to her plate, sliding a syrup covered peach across her plate with her knife. An ache formed in her stomach as she thought about calling Killian. 

“Emma.”

Looking up, she found Mary Margaret staring directly at her, her eyebrows knit together and concern clear in her eyes. 

“Call him. Go see him. Do whatever, but don’t shut it down before even finding out what things might be. He’s not Neal or Walsh. You know that right?”

Taking a deep breath, she took a bite of her pancakes, chewing slowly as she let Mary Margaret’s words rattle around her head. Killian wasn’t either of them. He was steadfast and honest. She knew how he treated the women he dated and the women he picked up at bars, and both spoke well of him. And she knew that when it mattered, he was all in, which may have been what scared her most. 

“I know,” she finally whispered in answer, staring at her coffee mug rather than her friend. And she did. 

Mary Margaret reached out and squeezed her arm. “So, do you want to move your stuff into our guest room or should we start looking for an apartment now? I bookmarked a few places, in case you were interested.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance my landlord hasn’t rented the place? It would be so much easier if I just stayed there.”

Ignoring her, Mary Margaret continued, “Also, we should go buy you some new sheets and pillows. Target? Or do you want to try that cute place near Copley Square? I saw some nice stuff there last week.”

“Oh, gross.” She paused. “You don’t think he…”

“Do you want to risk it?” Mary Margaret lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee.

With the thought of Walsh fucking some other woman in her apartment lodged in her head, suddenly the thought of finding a new apartment in less than a week didn’t seem that awful. Emma grabbed the tablet Mary Margaret was handing to her.

“Did you at least find some places in the same ne ighborhood?”

Mary Margaret grinned. “What do you take me for? I know better than to push too much change all at once. Though there is this one place...”

Emma laughed and opened the photos on the first ad.

///

“Why do you keep looking at your phone?”

“I’ve not been looking at -”

Not even allowing Killian the courtesy of finishing his obvious lie, Liam cut him off with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve been doing that all week.”

“What’s that?”

Liam batted him away from the Jewel’s helm. “Not looking at your phone. It’s exhausting to watch. Are you going to tell me who exactly you are not looking for a message from?”

It had been six days since he left Emma in her apartment, her eyes wide and hand gripping the top of her sofa. Six days to contemplate the exact shade of red her lips went when they were kiss swollen, and how he wished he hadn’t had to leave. Six days of silence from her wherein he might have driven Ariel to the brink each time he checked to see if their schedule still had those two open days. Six days to wonder if he shouldn’t call, if he was wrong to leave the next step to her. He knew her, knew that if left alone she’d allow her thoughts to twist in on themselves. 

He should have called, should have invited her out today.

“I’m not waiting to hear from anyone.”

“Go tell that rot to my wife and Belle.”

“What rot is that?”

Killian turned to find Rose climbing up the ladder from below deck, James strapped to her chest inside one of her complicated wraps. He could barely make out the small mat of blond curls at the top of his head. He reached out as Rose came around to stand next to him, cupping his hand around the back of James’ head, his thumb soothing along the soft skin behind his ear. 

“Your husband seems to think I have an unhealthy fascination with my phone,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to the top of James’ head before offering a crooked smile to Rose.

“I’m only trying to get him to admit there’s a girl.”

“There’s only ever one girl,” she said, offering him a saccharine smile as she sat down on the bench behind the helm and stretched out her legs.

Liam’s eyes flashed as he whipped around to glare at Killian. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Killian grumbled and leaned down to open the cooler, filling a cup with ice and pulling out a beer for himself. He poured a measure of gin into the cup before topping it off with some tonic water. When he was finished, he lifted it up in the direction of the bow. “I’m going to go find Belle.”

She was exactly where he expected, stretched out on a towel on the decking of the bow. She was on her back, in a pair of oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat, her head tilted to the side as she flipped a page in her book. He nudged the sole of her foot with his toe and dropped the gin and tonic down next to her before sitting down himself. He pulled out a straw and a small paper umbrella and dropped both into her drink.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Nice touch.”

He opened his beer and gave her a smirk as he stretched out. They sat quietly for a while, Belle continuing to read as Killian closed his eyes and listened to the distant sound of the water lapping at the shore along with Liam’s and Rose’s murmurs behind them. 

“Finally saw the tattoo you did for Emma. In person, that is,” he whispered, not wanting his confession to carry. 

Belle put down her book and turned to lay on her side, propping her head up in her hand. “You did?” She twitched her eyebrows suggestively at him and smiled as she pulled her straw into her mouth, taking a long sip. “Do tell.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He paused. “Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I might have kissed her.”

“Might have? What, did you trip and fall into her lips?”

He told her the story, from the moment Emma texted him to the how he found himself in his car driving to Boston. By the time he was done, Belle’s brow was furrowed but there was still a hint of a smile on her lips. 

“You know, she talked about you during her entire session with me.”

Laying back down, he pulled his arms up to cushion behind his head. “Well, I was the one to send her to you.”

“No. That wasn’t it at all. You should see the way she looks when she talks about you. Gets all animated, her eyes light up and she starts talking with her hands.” Belle laughed and he opened an eye, watching as she took another sip of her drink. “Had to tell her to stop more than a few times or she was going to cause me to ruin the lettering.”

Killian smiled and closed his eye again. He could clearly see the picture Belle painted, had spent his fair share of evenings watching Emma and her hands as she told him about her latest stakeout turned sprint or how easy it was to distract a skip with a tight dress and well placed hair flip. He knew the smile that would light up her face and how her fingers stretch out when she was deep into sharing the details of the scene. 

Belle reached out, drawing her hand along his jaw and tapping her thumb against his lips. “Yeah. She smiled exactly like that.” She pulled her hand away and Killian turned towards her. She waited until he was looking directly at her to finish her thought. “She wasn’t like that when she talked about her boyfriend.”

He sighed. “Our timing couldn’t be worse.”

“That may be true, but don’t use that as an excuse not to talk to her.”

Shrugging, he started, “I’m not…” before drifting off and staring at his feet.

“You know you deserve to be happy again, don’t you? You know she’d want that.”

“She never did like Emma though.”

“True.”

Belle’s confirmation of Milah’s thoughts on Emma, while not surprising, still stung. He looked up. “She told you that?”

“We talked about a lot of things that summer while I was filing for divorce,” she said with a shrug. “Milah knew that even though you loved her, Emma would always have a piece of you she couldn’t reach. She knew that going in and she still had no regrets, Killian.”

Killian stared off across the bay, focusing at the point where the blue of the water met the even bluer horizon. He wanted to believe Belle’s words about Milah, they soothed one of his many hanging worries. He knew how he felt about her, he never wanted her to feel second in anything when it came to him. They’d been married less than two years when she died, a pulmonary embolism that struck while she was out for a run. He always worried he hadn’t shown her enough.

“You made her happy. You know that, right?”

“I loved her” was his whispered reply.

“And it doesn’t mean you can’t love Emma too.”

He didn’t answer her. 

“You should call her.”

“I don’t want to push.” He paused a beat before continuing, “but I don’t want it to be like last time. I don’t want to ignore it, pretend it didn’t happen.”

Belle rolled her eyes and handed him his beer. “Then you should call her.”

“I know.”

Nodding, Belle picked up her drink. “So, tell me more about this kiss.”

It was dusk by the time Liam returned them to the harbor and the sun had nearly set, painting the sky a deep red by the time he pulled into his driveway. He was so focused on what he should say if -- when -- he texted Emma that he almost missed the sight of her yellow VW parked in front of his house. Stepping out of the car, he caught sight of her sitting at the bottom of the yard at the end of his dock, her feet skimming along the surface of the water. 

He smiled as he watched her waiting for him, he knew she be humming a song beneath her breath. He knew she had to have heard him pull up, the sound of car tires on the gravel would have carried the length of his yard, but she remained facing the horizon, waiting. He swallowed thickly. He needed a shower, to wash off the layers of sweat and sunscreen from his skin. He also needed to see her face, to gauge her expression, her thoughts. 

Breathing out through his nose, he closed his eyes. She was here, he reminded himself. She hadn’t called, he hadn’t either, but she was here. Waiting, for once on him. She knew he had pulled up, but she waited for him to decide what he wanted to do.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted a hell of a lot more than a kiss.

“Shower first,” he muttered to himself, shouldering his bag and making his way to the side door.

By the time he stood at the back door, hair still damp and dressed only in a pair of jeans rolled at the cuff, the sun was only a sliver a gold light hugging the horizon and the first of the night’s stars had begun to blink into view. He padded in bare feet across the lawn and down the length of the dock. Though quiet, he knew she could hear him when her legs stopped their shallow swing and she stretched, her back curving toward him as he stopped behind her. 

“‘Allo, Swan,” he whispered as she rested her head against his thigh, her hand wrapping around his ankle.

She tipped her head back, offering him a shy smile as her fingers traced around the knob of his ankle. “I was going to call, but I thought it might be better if I just…”

He sank down behind her as she trailed off, inching forward to draw her between his legs and wrapping an arm around her waist. His fingers played along the hem of her t-shirt, dipping beneath the soft, worn fabric in a search for skin. He felt more than heard her draw in a breathe when he succeeded, and he bit back a smile when she hummed and pressed back against him.

Brushing his free hand up her arm and along her shoulder, he drew her hair away from her neck. He pressed his nose behind her ear, ghosting his lips along the shell. “Glad you came, love.”

She hummed again, dropping her chin to her neck and tilting to the side to encourage him further. “You sure?”

“Of you?” He bit at her earlobe and the quiet, strangled groan she gave shot shivers along the base of his spine, the warm night air suddenly feeling cool against his skin. “Always.”

“We should talk,” she said, but gripped his thigh as she pressed further back against his chest.  

“We should,” he agreed, rolling his hips.

She shifted her hand, pressing it between them to run her thumb up the inside of his thigh. “Later?”

“Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The first and the second parts come heavily inspired, both in situation and parts of the actual text, to Erin McCarthy’s Love Taker. If you’ve read that and read this and think it seems familiar, that is why. This story ends up nothing like that book. It was just that as much as I didn’t like the book, I loved its first couple of chapters and wanted to spin it around with Captain Swan.


End file.
